


special delivery

by MonikaKrasnorada



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, I'm bored, Ignore this, M/M, Nonsense, armie has some explaining to do, no tags, this is just stupid, timmy appears to be an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonikaKrasnorada/pseuds/MonikaKrasnorada
Summary: This is actually a remix of a an original fic idea I've had in my drafts for years. Thought a little light-heartedness wouldn't be a bad thing in the midst of the current fandom climate.All I hope is that it might make someone smile. It's not the great American novel. Just porn. And badly written porn at that :)This hasn't been beta'd. All mistakes (I'm sure there are TONS) are all my own.





	special delivery

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a remix of a an original fic idea I've had in my drafts for years. Thought a little light-heartedness wouldn't be a bad thing in the midst of the current fandom climate. 
> 
> All I hope is that it might make someone smile. It's not the great American novel. Just porn. And badly written porn at that :)
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd. All mistakes (I'm sure there are TONS) are all my own.

_“Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message service.  The number you are trying to reach is not available. At the tone…”_

Timmy jabbed angrily at the screen of his phone, ending the recording before tossing it onto the table in front of him in frustration. _Fuck_. It’s not like he hadn’t heard that mechanical female voice twenty times or sent half a dozen texts that had gone unread over the past two hours.

Two hours late without a fucking word. Who, in this day and age, was out of reach for that long? Honestly, who, in the year _2020_ , could not spare a _second_ and find some way to get in touch with their- What was he exactly? What were they to each other?

_Boyfriends?_

God, he hated the term, but they were still so new in this, _whatever_ it was they were doing that they had yet to actually define it at all. Armie’s divorce had been final for less than six months when he’d shown up on Timmy’s doorstep, out of the fucking blue, like a scene from _Love, Actually._  Soaked to the bone from the chilly October rain, shivering from cold or nerves, who knew with Armie?

He hadn’t left since. Three months on with Armie practically living with him and Timmy still felt as if he didn’t know where he stood with Armie because they never _talked._ Not about what it was they were doing, or about the future. So yeah, Timmy was at a loss in how to define his role and what he meant in Armie’s life.

Even without the label, Timmy didn’t feel it was an outrageous thing to expect a text, an email, a call— hell, fucking smoke signals would be welcome at this point—  to let him know Armie would be late for a dinner? A planned and scheduled moment, for Tim’s _birthday,_ no less.

All Timmy wanted was a quiet, romantic dinner in, together. Both their schedules left left little time for real interactions beyond a middle of the night fuck, or handjob in the shower before Tim was off to rehearse an upcoming play and Armie met with casting directors, looking for his next job. They had both agreed, coordinated and anticipated.  Well, Timmy hoped they had both anticipated. Had Armie? Were there signals Timmy had missed?

God, he hated this. Timmy wasn't one to second-guess anything, but his lack of experience in this area left him wrong-footed and anxious. He just didn't know, and felt things had gone too long as they were and that the time for questions had long past.

Looking around the apartment made him that much more uncertain, and just a touch angry. He had actually cleaned- he knew his housekeeping skills would never be on the level of Armie’s near-OCD level need for cleanliness (his mother had really done a job on him). The greasy pizza box from two nights ago was now in the trash. There were no dirty socks on the coffee table. There were definitely no pistachio shells in the vicinity of the sofa. Well, he was pretty sure he’d gotten them all. No, as he stood near the kitchen, surveying the adjacent living space, he was pretty proud of how the place looked until he turned and was reminded of just why he had gone to all the trouble to clean in the first place.

In the kitchen, their small dining table was set with their mismatched, but clean, china, a lone taper candle burned down to a pitiful stub in the middle. Timmy hadn't actually cooked but he had ordered from their favorite little Italian restaurant around the corner. All their favorites but two hours too late and the pasta had gone pasty while the cream and butter of the sauce clotted in unappealing globs.

He flopped down into his chair at the lonely, forlorn table, pouring the rest of the bottle of red wine into his glass. Who cared? This was his fucking birthday, this was what he had wanted…a nice, quiet evening in; a private celebration. Timmy had actually been looking forward to the day because he had had a reason to celebrate and for the first time, someone he actually wanted to celebrate it with. It had been a rocky road, getting them to where they were now, together. And turning twenty-five felt like a bigger deal than it probably was to anyone else. But he was successful and with the man he loved and he just wanted to celebrate it with him. Was that too much to ask?

It wasn’t simply just about celebrating his birthday, but they were just so new as a ‘them’. Timmy had hoped this night might go a bit further in allowing them to explore this new version of their relationship and learning just what they meant to one another.  

And, Armie couldn’t even take time to call, could he?  Nice to know where you stood with someone.

One phone call…just one, was all it would have taken to smooth things over.   But, no…Armie couldn’t even manage to be that considerate. It was funny, that was the kind of thing people would have accused Timmy of doing. He was young, known to be flighty after all. Honestly, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Timmy…The maudlin thought tormented him that the honeymoon  was over before they had even had a chance to begin.

Maybe this had all been a terrible mistake. Maybe their time had come and gone and they were just fooling themselves.

Timmy knew somehow, he had to be the blame. His lack of experience was certainly a hindrance to Armie. Timmy knew everyone still looked at him as if her were a child, especially when compared to Armie. He’d already been married and divorced, had kids. Timmy still lived like a college student.  Was it just that 'settling down' meant the spark naturally faded?

With a morose shake of his head and a heavy-hearted sigh, Timmy leaned over the table—  more than a little light-headed— and blew out the candle that lit the center of the table just as the doorbell rang.

A glance at his phone screen was a quick reminder that it was too late for anyone just ‘stopping by’. Grabbing his glass, he downed the contents while his brow furrowed and a growl threatened to escape his throat. He hoped it wasn’t Guillian or Will ‘stopping by’ to celebrate, he _really_ wasn’t in the mood to fake being happy right now.

But he knew who it probably was and now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to see him. With a sigh he stood, swaying for just a second on his feet. He reached for the door long before he got to it.

“You had better have lost your keys and be ringing that doorbell with your cock,” He grumbled to himself, wrenching the door open .  “Because your fingers have to be brok-”

 _Not Armie._ Timmy stopped dead, swinging the door wide as he eyed the delivery man standing on his threshold. _Oh, hell._   

 " _Happy birthday to me…”_  his mind happily supplied though he fought in vain to stop it's runaway thought. Timmy swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly desert-dry as he eyed the man standing on his stoop.

He was a very tall, lovely drink of khaki-clad water, meeting everyone of Timmy's trigger points; from the brawny steel-toed work boots, hard-toned thighs revealed beneath the tight cotton fabric covering them, lean waist, broad chest and shoulders, with just the faintest smattering of chest hair peeking from the couple of buttons undone at his throat.  His name tag merely said, ‘Ian’. Finally managing to take his eyes from the inviting v at his neck, Timmy was struck dumb by the knowing quirk of lip in the chiseled face and piercing blue eyes that locked unwaveringly with his own. Caught out for his open admiration, Timmy could feel his face grow warm.

 _It has to be the wine._ He silently told himself, though the flush registered in more places than just his face.

“Delivery for-”  the man looked at his invoice before locking eyes with Timmy again and offering a heat-filled smile.  “Mr Chalamet?”

The sight sent a shiver coursing through Timmy's body. It was unnerving and something here-to-for he had only ever experienced with Armie- a need for something purely carnal. Hearing his name on this man's lips was as indelible as a touch and oh-so very welcome and something in him shifted.

_Forget Armie._

Clearing his throat, Timmy flashed a wide smile.  “That would be me.” He reached for the gift— a square, neatly brown-wrapped package—  allowing his fingers to brush the inside of the delivery man’s wrist.

He lifted a brow inquisitively, as Timmy just continued to smile.

“Great.  So, I’ll need your signature here,”  he held his little clipboard to Timmy, reaching for his breast pocket.  “Sorry, I forgot my pen in the truck, let me just…”

“Oh, don’t worry…Ian,”  Timmy crooned with a smirk, turning back towards the room behind him, motioning the man to follow after he had closed the door.  “No sense in you walking all the way out and back, when I have one just here.”

Timmy missed Ian smile to himself as he trailed behind into the kitchen.

“Now I understand,”  Ian offered out loud as Timmy absently tossed the gift on the kitchen counter, searching the cabinet drawer for a pen .

“Excuse me?”

Ian cleared his throat but it didn’t help the throaty raspiness. “All this.”

Timmy shivered.  

He gave a nod toward the dining room and the table set up for dinner.   “I just meant, I understand now why you were more than a little surprised to see a delivery man on your doorstep.  You were expecting someone…”

Timmy scoffed, finally holding a pen up in victory.  “Yeah, I had been ‘expecting’ someone for a few hours now,” he rolled his eyes, not bothering to veil his sarcasm.

“Ouch,”  Ian cringed.  “The, umm…girlfriend?  Is that late, huh?” He was fishing. _Adorable._

Timmy absently signed the paper, his anger rekindled after being reminded of being stood up by Armie on his birthday.  

“That would be ‘boyfriend’, and yes, he’s that late.” He wanted to say more, but held his tongue from letting the hurt speak for him.  He gave himself a mental shake, and smiled invitingly at the handsome delivery man standing in his kitchen. “Awfully late for you to have to be out, so I won’t keep you,” he handed the little clipboard back over to Ian.

“It _is_ late,”  Ian echoed for lack of anything else to say.

“I feel bad  you had to work late to deliver that,”  Timmy indicated the package he had heartlessly tossed aside with a nod of his head before he started toward the door.  He had barely taken a step when a large, warm hand wrapped around his wrist, holding him gently in place.

“You were my last stop, so I’m free,”  Ian stepped closer to Timmy, his front to Timmy's back, so close he could feel the heat between them. His mouth to Timmy's ear, he quietly added, “for the night. You know, just in case you were...wondering.”

The spell was cast.  The delicious brush of Ian’s warm breath against Timmy's ear was so inviting that he let himself melt against Ian.  Nothing between them but the layers of their clothing, the wicked invitation was one neither could resist.

“Your boyfriend’s not here,”  Ian tempted, nuzzling the tender shell of Timmy's ear.

“No,”  Timmy all but breathed, angling his head to allow Ian’s mouth to trace the curve of his jaw.  “He’s not here.”

Taking Timmy's capitulation and running with it, Ian easily spun Timmy on his heel, crowding him against the wall.  Timmy gasped, loving the full frontal contact, their bodies fused from chest to toe. Ian’s eyes were a stormy sea as he stared down into the beauty that was Timmy's lust-flushed face.

“Your boyfriend is such an ass,”  the words whispered against Timmy's mouth, Ian licked his lips in anticipation.

Timmy only nodded weakly. Armie _was_ an ass. Leaving Timmy alone, needy and wanting. He was unable to look away from the full-on hunger etched in the lines of Ian's face. How could Timmy resist? It was all he wanted...to be wanted in return.

“He totally is,” was his breathless response and all he managed to get out before Ian's lips claimed his own.

 _Oh, God_ … They were as soft as they looked, and once Timmy gave in to the taste he was lost.

Ian groaned, loving the feel of Timmy's complete surrender, their bodies yearning, struggling against the other; hard flesh meeting eager, searching hands; lips and teeth and tongue adding fuel to an already raging inferno.

Grinding hips and clutching shoulders, arms; reaching round to grasp a firm, rounded ass, they were a heaving, gasping tangle.  Ian devoured Timmy, leaning into him, kissing deeply, stroking and petting, clasping his head between his hands as he reveled in the taste and texture of Timmy's mouth.

Thrusting urgently, Timmy ground his cock against Ian’s, eliciting a hungry moan and throaty laugh from the man.  Following Timmy's open invitation, Ian forced his hand between their bodies, rubbing the long, hard length of Timmy’s cock with the heel of his hand.

Timmy closed his eyes, breaking the kiss as he let his head rest against the wall, thrusting against the pressure Ian provided with a moan.

“I love that sound,”  Ian whispered against the long column of Timmy’s exposed throat, licking and nipping at the pulse point thrumming at the base of his neck.  “Will you make it for me again?” he prompted as he maneuvered the fly of Timmy’s pants open, finally pulling that heated flesh into his eager palm.

“Shit,” Timmy hissed in pleasure, while managing to get Ian’s pants undone as well.

Timmy smiled when Ian froze the second his hand closed tightly around his swollen cock. Burying his face in Timmy’s neck, Ian struggled for control, loving the surprisingly strong grip.

It was Timmy’s turn to give a low laugh.  “You sound pretty good yourself,” he stroked Ian’s length, pulling a moan from the man’s throat in response.

Ian lifted his head,  his storm-blue eyes locking with Timmy’s, the green of his own he knew must now be dark as night.  He took in the sight of Timmy’s flush-stained cheeks and kiss-swollen lips as they parted invitingly.  “So fucking beautiful…” he sighed, crushing his lips to Timmy’s with renewed intensity.

The room was filled with heavy breathing and stifled moans, their bodies and hands working against each other without restraint, the moment fueled by that kink of being strangers, lost in want and need- to come, to make the other come first, to somehow be the winner in a game that the spoils would go to both equally, no matter what.

Timmy grasped Ian tightly around the shoulders with his one free arm, his hand moving in time with Ian’s thrusting hips.  He felt the rising tide, the heat rolling off his body in waves as he stiffened in Ian’s arms, poised on that brink as he struggled to breathe.

“Let me see you…”   Ian growled, sensing the tension in Timothée’s body, his fist tightening around the aching cock in his hand.

He let his thumb glide over the dewy slit, stroking down hard as he felt the length harden to steel before the first pulse of orgasm rode up the thick column and erupted in creamy ribbons against Ian’s hand.  "Gorgeous..."

Timmy struggled to keep hold of Ian as he lost himself to the pleasure, but somehow he still registered the wet heat on his fingers as Ian came loudly, collapsing against him.

Thankful for Ian’s weight as it held him up when his knees would have given way while they both struggled to catch their breath.

Time ticking by, the fervor of those moments slowly began to ebb, the delicious languor of afterglow filling in around the silence of the room.

Timmy felt Ian shaking against him and he rolled his head against the wall to crack an eye open to look down at the man buried in his neck.

Ian was laughing and Timmy was not immune to the contagion.

“Don’t laugh…I still think you’re an ass,” Timmy teased, ruffling the blond hair that tickled the curve of his neck.

“I wish you could have seen your face when you opened that door.”

Timmy couldn’t help the lazy smile that played at the corners of his mouth  “Can you blame me? It’s not every night your boyfriend stands you up only to show up two hours late, Armie, _in ‘disguise’_. Really, I mean, what the fuck?"

Armie laughed heartily at that.  “'Course, but it’s also not every night your boyfriend turns 25 and acts like a complete slut.”

Timmy pouted beautifully and Armie couldn’t help but kiss those sweet, full lips again.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Timmy rolled his eyes and pushed Armie away. "You're lucky you're hot."

Timmy hobbled into the kitchen, his pants still hanging open, his cock soft and exposed. It wasn't the most attractive thing he'd ever done, but they were past being embarrassed in front of one another. He washed his hands and wet a couple of paper towels, handing one over to Armie who now stood beside him, similarly exposed.

Cleaned up and once more put to rights, Armie crossed his arms, leaning on hip against the counter as he looked at Tim. 

"Am I forgiven?"

Timmy moved closer, leaning forward to plant his face against Armie's chest. Armie's arms came around him immediately, his lips pressed to the crown of Timmy's hair.

"You didn't call or text."

"I know. I'm sorry, it really was out of my hands. I had an appointment uptown and of course the subway stopped halfway there. I had no signal. I'm really sorry. I meant to be here on time."

Timmy shrugged but shuffled closer to Armie, his nose now pressed against Armie's throat. "It's okay. I understand. Was just being a brat, as usual."

"Hey," Armie's hands smoothed up Timmy's back to curl around his shoulders before he leaned away, looking down into Timmy's face to catch his eye. "You're not a brat. It's your birthday, you should expect your boyfriend to be here, on time."

Timmy's mouth twisted in the most adorable way. "Boyfriend?"

"You don't like that?" Armie lifted a brow.

"No, I do-"

Armie hummed and nodded his head toward the forgotten gift on the table. "Are you not going to open it up?"

Timmy had forgotten it was there but now quickly reached for it, ripping the paper excitedly as Armie chuckled.

"Not a brat, but maybe a child on Christmas?" Armie teased and Timmy huffed, elbowing him as he opened the small white box. A smaller black velvet one fell into his palm when he tipped it over.

His head popped up, his eyes, bright and wide. He licked his lips, worked his mouth, unable to say anything.

Armie took the box from him with careful fingers, his heart thundering in his throat as he opened it, presenting it to Timmy. 

The silver of the thin band caught the light, flashing as Armie took a deep breath.

"Would 'husband' be better?"

 

 


End file.
